A Rush Of Blood To The Head
by andrea mae
Summary: 1765, the daughter of a half breed Cherokee Indian and a Wealthy Plantation owner is sent to live with her grandparents in the wilderness with a tribe of Cherokee's after one of her father's drucken rages. Flashes over to 1780, the British are marching up
1. Chapter 1

Nate: I know I do not own any of the Characters from The Patroit, but I can wish. Please dont sue, ect...

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A Rush Of Blood To The Head

Victoria sat with her little daughter upon her lap. The cool night air felt well upon her bruised face, her husband had gone out to the tavern in the early afternoon. He came home for dinner and was in a drunken rage to find that his sup was not made the way he wanted it. A veteran of the French and Indian War, he had resolved to drink as had many men. Victoria's mother was part Cherokee Indian, and was lucky to have married so well and richly. But that didn't take the pain from the disaster of a marriage. Her husband had now left to return to the tavern. The slaves watched carefully of what they say, they watched the master day after day abuse his wife, but not once did he put his hands upon his daughter. She was the one thing that made him come to his feet and stop, her bright blue eyes and dark hair.

Victoria rocked back and forth humming an old Cherokee song as she decided to leave. She just watched the lighting bugs she had chased as a child in the camps. She let her self think about what would happen should she leave, how would her daughter be raised to me a woman of the world? There was no way she would ever come up with the money to send her to school if she went back with her family in the woods. So Victoria stayed for her daughter, not knowing what horrors lay ahead for them.


	2. The First Meeting

1780

Victoria's hair had long turned gray and her skin downed a light shade of brown from all the years in the sun. Her daughter had grown into a young woman, she was taught just as well as one of the schools in Charles Town. Her grandmother taught her the healing powers from flowers and other plants, her grandfather taught her to fight with a tomahawk and bow and arrow. She spoke both English and 1) Tsalagi. She looked exactly like her mother at her age, light blue eyes and dark brown hair, almost a black. Her skin had too taken on a light glow of brown from the sun. She had charmed everyone, including many warriors who began fighting to marry her. By now she was 18 and very independent, as she was taught. She wanted to go back to the world of the "white man" as her grandparents called it.

She had left the plantation she was born on when she was three. She remembers they last time her and her mother rocked on the porch in their rocking chair. Those days were far away and so where the pains that went with it. The very day after her father came after her for singing an old Cherokee song her mother taught her. That was the end, that night while he slept her mother took her and left for the woods. He chased after them but soon gave up as the effects of his drinking that night took over. Two days later they came to the small village and got a very warm welcome and they have been there ever since.

"Charity," she turned around to face her mother. She was washing some clothes in the stream just outside the village, "you must come, it is your grandmother."

"What has happened?"

"It is her time-" before she could finish Charity ran off to her grandmothers. She walked into the hut; it was full of the elder women and some young ones as well. They all moved for her and she saw her grandmother, once so full of life just laying there pale as could be. She was gasping for breath when she reached out for her granddaughter.

"Charity, maybe baby. You take care for your mother and yourself. Marry well but watch for tempers," she said before drawing her last breath. Charity cried openly, she had lost her grandfather early that winter and now she was lost her grandmother, and her mother was not fairing too well.

"No, not you too, please," she said laying her head down on her grandmother chest and weeping softly.

"Come child," one of the elder women said taking her by the shoulders, "let them do their work." The rest of the women set to prepare her for burial.

Outside the sun was shining on a fine spring afternoon, but it was not fine for anyone. The men were working but stopped as news of the elder woman's death reached them.

They buried her upon the hill on the tribes' burial grown. Soft cries came from the crowd and soon they broke into a sorrowful song.

"2)We n' de ya ho, We n' de ya ho,

We n' de ya, We n' de ya Ho ho ho ho,

He ya ho, He ya ho, Ya ya ya"

But soon the ceremony was cut short by a group of Calvary. The chief walked up to the leader. "May I be of help to you?"

"Yes, I need Cherokee scouts to serve for his majesty the king of England," he had a tone that made Charity's blood boil.

"You mean to take my warriors? The ones who protect our women and children?"

"If you put it that way," he continued.

"They are off hunting for us; you may come and wait in the village."

"We need them now-"

"How dare you!" Charity yelled at the back of the crowd, she made her way through them to come stand next to the chief. "Do you not see that we are burring one of our own? We must finish here before you take away our warriors!"

"A Saucy little child," he said in a matter of fact tone.

"I am not child! I am a young woman who wishes to burry her grandmother!"

"You are white! What are you doing in a group of Indian's?"

"They are my family!"

"You lie!" He yelled back.

"My mother is part English, part Cherokee!"

"And your father?" he asked impatiently.

"From what I know of him, he is English," she said lowering her head.

"How old are you girl?"

"I am no girl! I am a woman! A woman of the Cherokee and I hope my father is dead!"

"Charity Anne!" Her mother yelled joining her side. "It is none of your business sir, please move along."

"Scary how these savages let their women speak freely and have so much freedom."

"Leave!" The chief thundered. "You shall have none of my warriors for your scouts. You do not deserve such an honor."

"I need them-"

"I will go," Charity said plainly.

"A woman? Are you insane? You will not last in battle, nor could you weald any sort of weapon."

"I can and I am just as good as our warriors and I know everything there is to know."

"I'd rather see you as one of our camp followers!" He spat down at her.

"Then leave try your luck other place!"

They turned and left, all except two, The one who had spoken to them and a fire haired man. He was burly and looked strong, he didn't talk at all.

"We will wait," the man said as the group turned around and finished their song.

The women walked along with them men and the two officers back to the village.

1) Tsalagi- the Cherokee language

2) Cherokee Morning song, translation means- I am of the Great Spirit, it is so.


End file.
